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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



THE OTHER SIDE 



%n l^i^toric poem 



BY 



VIRGINIA FRAZER BOYLE 





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CopjTight, 1893, 
By VIRGINIA FRAZER BOYLE 



The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U.S.A. 
Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co. 



TO 

CONFEDERATE SOLDIERS 

LIVING AND DEAD 

AND TO 

THE WOMEN OF THE SOUTH 

(^W poem 

IS DEDICATED 



PREFACE 

The literature of a country is a many-sided 
polygon, upon whose polished surfaces is re- 
flected the internal structure of its peoples. 

From the womb of literature is born the 
history of a nation, the outer record of an 
inner chronicle of heredity and environment. 

Contemporaneous history cannot be writ- 
ten, and the statement of such an existence 
stamps the production at once as false and 
partisan. 

Contemporaneous literature, however, in 
whatever state, is the logbook by which the his- 
torical mariner can steer off the shoals of nar- 
rowness and lift above the fogs of sectionalism 
the many phases of an heterogeneous people. 

America has no history ; the Republic is too 
new for crystallization ; but its transition bears 
testimony to two distinct eras, born of the 
same impulse, bearing toward the same goal, 
but differing in results. 

Success tells its own story. That there is an- 
other side is too often forgotten in the pceans for 
the victorious ; but victor and vanquished have 



vi Preface 

the privilege, nay, it should be urged that it is 
their duty, in this united country, to leave fear- 
lessly upon the shrine of posterity the records 
of psychological differentiation and causes of 
effects, for the unborn historian who shall arise, 
— the barrister before the Court of Time. 

Northern and Southern literatures do not 
exist ; but American literature is rich in lore 
sprung from the various peoples evolved by 
that heredity and environment, whose duty it 
is to preserve pure and simple the structure 
of each section. Therefore, as an American 
citizen, under the stars of a perfected Union, 
the Author has no hesitancy in presenting to 
an American public a contribution to Ameri- 
can literature, believing that it will be received 
as it is given, as a mirror of the past, bearing 
no more upon the future than the sunset of 
today upon the dawning of the morrow; that 
it will be received by the great minds of the 
winning side, in whom there is implicit faith, 
without rancor or bitterness ; and when the 
sentiment not less true, may jar, that they will 
yet hear with interest the unfamiliar voice, re- 
membering that it is the literature of "The 
Other Side." 

THE AUTHOR. 

Memphis, Tennessee, 
Ociobe?; 1891. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Part First. Divergent Lines 9 

Part Second. The Prisoner of State . . 26 
Part Third. Reconstruction 48 



THANKS BE TO GOD, THAT I TOO 
AM AN AMERICAN CITIZEN 1 " 



THE OTHER SIDE 

AN HISTORIC POEM 



PART FIRST 

DIVERGENT LINES 



Across the waters of the elder world, 
Upon the ancient land of lore and song, 
Two foster brothers smiled in childish play, 
And knelt beside an English mother's knee. 
The one was gentle, and a mystic bloom 
Lay on the olive cheek and dewy lip, 
That mirrored in their open purity 
.The joyous, loving heart that beat within. 
And one was grave ; the curve of youth was hid 
Beneath a cloak of sternness, and the eye, 
Fraught with the portent of the coming time. 
Looked keen and hardened from a narrow brow 
That marked the branching of the parent tree. 
And so they grew, nursed by divergent themes, 
Beside the ancient fountain of the race, 
9 



10 The Other Side 

Until their knighthood graved upon their 

shields 
The legends '' Cavalier " and " Puritan." 

When turning from the mother heart that dealt 
Unfairly with the children of her love, 
The one led on by conquest's glittering train, 
The other for the easing of a gall, — 
Upon the borders of the western world 
These brothers met, as warders of the land. 
They chose, and if perchance the goodly land 
That fell to Jacob's lot was fair, 't was well. 
For on the bleak frontier with sturdy strength, 
The iron-sinewed Esau delved and throve ; 
And burning from oppression's blistering 

brand. 
The hot blood surging through his corded 

veins. 
The alien drove his flying scourge and bade 
The red-skinned Ishmael seek the setting sun. 
When " right divine " became a feudal wrong. 
These brothers snapped the leading-strings in 

twain. 
And in the tangle of the newer world 
They made a compact on the field of blood. 



All Historic Poem ii 

Upon the wave that swept across the sea 
They poured the honest sleet of rebel ball ; 
Enthroned powers trembled in their wrath, 
And rage gnawed at the ermine of a king. 
On high, by force of dauntless rebel will 
And rebel arms, on glory parchment writ. 
There flashed the white star of achievement, 

flung 
Upon the stirring records of the world. 
The British crimson faded from the field, 
Through lifting smoke, where ships go down 

to sea j 
'Mid stacking arms, a lusty shout arose. 
That gave a grand Republic to the world. 

Full well they wrought, those fathers of the 

land. 
To blazon freedom on the rearing crest 
Of what they dreamed, a proud posterity. 
And time looked on the field and blessed the 

yield 
Of each with plenty, fit unto his kind. 
And nature's heart to each ambition gave 
The key that fits the oiled lock of ease. 
Yea, greed of gold ! — high heaped the shining 

pile. 



12 The Other Side 

And still the itching palm stretched out for 

more, 
As through the years the slavers plowed the 

deep, 
And trafficked on the mart in human souls. 
One gave the slave into his brother's hand 
For glut of gold, and came and came again. 
Until the dark cloud in the South eclipsed 
The sense of wrong, as locusts hide the sun. 
The Cavalier smiled on his ample fields. 
Tilled by the sinews of the dusky race ; 
The sin took root and bore an ample fruit — 
His brother gave, alas ! and he did eat ! 
What mattered to the Puritan the cry, — 
The cry of dusky children 'neath his gold ? 
The silken robe remembered not the past, 
The yellow balm had soothed his fretted soul. 
Strange, that the clarion note of freedom slept 
Throughout the years that spread the fowlers' 

net. 
That herded human chattels in the field. 
That better bred the ill-begotten race, 
Gave recompense unto that bleaker part 
With that befitted to her rugged lines. 
Strange, that the mutual sin had blinded eyes, 



All Historic Poem i ^ 

So wont to see, with clearer vision set, 
Until the poison leaven in the cup 
With envy's lees had blent, and yeasted o'er 
In bitter, darkened curses, brewed for each. 

Still westward, on and on, the wear}^ feet 
Of Ishmael pressed the dust}^ rocky way, — 
Now turning in the light of savage rage 
To break an arrow on the heel of fate. 
Then on and on, with bow unstrung, to leave 
A ghost upon his happy hunting ground. 
The bond, the free, both cradled by the scythe, 
That garnered for the dominating race ; 
The boast of dragging centuries had dawned 
To see the planting of an iron heel ! 

Well fared the young Republic in her race, 
Until men owned her prowess, and the hands 
Of monarchies had clapped in her applause. 
Until beside the single altar reared, 
A broken oath lay sullied in the dust. 
For like a vaulting bird that wheels and swoops 
Upon his nest, destroying what he wrought, 
Or like an angered stag that blindly turns 
His antler thrusts upon his beating heart, 
The Puritan had laid his daring hands 



14 The Other Side 

Upon the compact both had sealed in blood ; 
Between the brothers' hands, if clasp they 

could 
Grew something harder than the grasp of love. 

Slow drifting on a cloudless sky there came 
A fleck not larger than an infant's hand. 
Men thought it thundered, paused within the 

field. 
Then bent the sickle to the harvest sheaves. 
But through the dancing gleam of pike and 

brand 
There grinned the horrid carrion of night, 
That crept upon a sleephig land to breed 
Foul demons in the breasts of simple slaves. 
God could not lend the breath of life to 

these ! — 
The grim abortions stained the virgin field, 
And on the cold brow of the murdered sire 
Was left the imprint of another Cain. 

The throat of golden eloquence had thrilled 
The silver tongues of North and South in vain, 
Till that great centre shook from pave to 

dome, — 
A Babel for the rights and wrongs of men. 



An Historic Poem 75 

And there was scoffing in that evil day, 
And waggings of the wise-pates, to and fro. 
What cared the Cavalier for war or arms, — 
Whose storehouse burst with plenty through 

those years 
That hung his idle spear upon its walls? 
His sword of Revolutionary fame 
Had known baptism where the plowshare 

turns ; 
But what were rights ? — that share could turn 

again. 
That pruning-hook leap out, a trusty blade. 
When vandals marred the rare foundation 

stone 
For which they fought, for which they wrought 

anew 
The fabric of the governmental world. 

Strife fell within the quiet tents of each, — 
The gentler Jacob, yearning for his flocks, 
Bade Esau let him now depart in peace 
From out his coasts, nor let their verging paths 
Cross oft again, nor e'er if not in peace ; 
It was a just, inalienable right, — 
The compact should be tested, proved if true. 



1 6 The Other Side 

But Envy, creeping from the arms of Hate, 
Gave birth to blear-eyed Jealousy, and slew 
Upon the very altar of her needs 
The country's last born child, the soft-eyed 

Faith ; 
And in her stead the changeling grew and 

throve. 
Nor dared reveal her horrid bloated form, 
But through the night fed on the sops that 

cast 
The shadow of the substance, brewed in hell. 

What tie of blood was there to stronger hold 

Than legends writ in water, oaths in sand ? — 

The unbound eyes of Justice stared afar, 

And wrong had tampered with the honest scale. 

The war-cloud burst, the fading sun went down, 

To leave a swirling bloody afterglow ; 

And by the sea and through the mountain pass 

There rung the changes of the reveille. 

It echoed in the halls where wealth had trod. 

Where hearts had wove the tenderest chord of 

life, 
And in the cot where poverty and love 
Had nested in the faith of God and home. 



/4// Historic Poem ly 

For unto each the summons came alike, 

And stirred wherever spark of manhood dwelt. 

They left the plowshare in the furrowed 

field, 
The anvil yearning for the hammer's stroke. 
The downy couch of ease, the thornless path 
Through fallow lands as far as eye could reach, 
And tottering graybeards looked upon the sky 
With shaded eye, nor read the portents there. 

What mattered to the " flintlock "' that the gun 
Of progress waited on the hungry field. 
Or alien hireling with Northern host 
Opposed the cause his heart espoused for 

right 
With ranks outnumbering, and swelled the 

troops 
With those poor ebon chattels of his hand, — 
Enfranchised mockeries, — held in the lines 
By bayonets that prodded from the rear. 
And goaded by the lash of promised gain 
To spill the blood that most had been their 

care ! 
The compact had been broken, sovereignty 
Of states was scoffed at as an idle tale, — 



1 8 The Other Side 

A brother's hand was laid, a tyrant's rod, 
To centralize the strength its seal diffused. 
What serfs were here to wear the hated yoke 
Plebeian monarchy enthroned would weld ? — 
Secession waved her arm, — the yell that 

struck 
Keen edged fear in aftertimes, split through 
The surcharged throats, and base and nobler 

born, 
With one accord, struck for their God, their 

South ! — 
They chose, and sadly from his fruitless quest 
For peace, the eagle of the Southland came. 
And on his crest, his People laid the seal 
Of leadership, the Southland's weal or woe. 
Wives gave their loves, and lovers, the be- 
trothed ; 
Men gave their hopes, and women gave their 

trust, — 
Nor ever Spartan mother gave the shield 
With grander token than the Southern heart 

Yea, what a charge was there ! — the wonder- 
ing world 
Stood still in silence, and the beating pulse 



Aji Historic Poem ig 

That times the arteries of nations, leaped, 
Thrilled with the greatness of the civil shock ! 
What mattered half-starved legions, thinning 

ranks, — 
For valor closed the lines where valor fell, 
And honor kept the hunger-wolf unseen. 
Within the vitals of the Southern host. 
Amid the smoke that wreathed the battle 

plain. 
High reached the flames that swept the lordly- 
homes, — 
Her dwelling places then were human hearts, 
And Dixie was an altar raised to God ! 
Ah ! would she yield ? — her valiant arm beat 

back 
The swelling horde that poured against her 

heart. 
The thinning ranks refilled, the graybeard 

came, 
And death gave up his own a little while ; 
Then from his pillow where he dreamed, the 

child 
Leaped into manhood in a single night, — 
The South had need of men, and childhood 

died, 



20 The Other Side 

To leave a memory, a golden curl, 

An honored name upon the roll of war, — 

For even " seed corn " went to save the stalk. 

So passed the years, the battle-years that wore 

The star of valor, pointed with the tears 

And brightened with the love that trod the 

loom, 
And bore the burden of the empty home. 
What room for woman's wailing when the 

scream 
Of shot and shell filled in each lagging 

pause ! 
She gave her all for right, and duty bade 
Her still her moan in silence, though her song 
Was hymned unto the guns, and twilight blent 
The cry of battle with her evening prayer. 

What tribute to the serfdom of the past, 
So fair, so strange, so tender true as this. 
When all the Southland gave her men to war, 
And left her womanhood unguarded, lone, 
She trusted in her own, and looking back 
Some time through lifting smoke a shadow fell 
Between the danger line and tender lives, — 



An Historic Poem 21 

The bare brown shoulder of an humble shield, 
The true arm of a loving, faithful slave ! 

Pressed on the right, encompassed round 

about, 
Pressed on the left, the dauntless Southland 

stood 
Unyielding yet, though famine hand in hand 
Stalked forth with war, and seas of gleaming 

spears 
Broke like a surf against her wooden walls. 
The fortress could not hold, the fates, new 

named 
Starvation, War, and Time, wore on the host ; 
The tide of strength ran out and left the bars 
As gaunt as naked skeletons of death. 
But one more strike for liberty, for right ! 
The hearts of men burst, broken with the 

shock, — 
The silence bled. Upon the shrine of war 
The Southland laid a warrior's spotless 

sword ! 
And Richmond, chosen daughter of her 

heart, — 
Could she, the mother, leave thee, leave thee 

so? — 



22 The Other Side 

Love laid the torch to give thee unto death, 

That beauty might not glad the victor's arms ! 

The darkness came and dwelt, sat at the 
board 

With silence for a guest, and high there crept 

A thousand tongues of living, leaping flame ; 

Now folding like a wreathing arm of light, 

Now climbing up and up until the gleam 

Pled unto heaven like a golden prayer. 

Ay ! they were prayers ! — what hecatombs of 
love, 

And incense crushed from bruised and bleed- 
ing hearts, 

And hopes all unfulfilled, heaped high the 
mount 

That lifted up the Southland to her God ! 

The morning dawned, above the smouldering 
heap 

They flung the Union banner to the breeze ; 

But shrouded in the heart of her \vho loved 

There gleamed the radiance of the Southern 
Cross. 

They cried not quarter from beleaguered posts, 
The ragged, starving legions waiting there, 



An Historic Poem 25 

Though rumors like as blackbirds in the 

spring 
Dropped thick upon the evil sprouting corn, 
Half unbelieved. When from the sullen North, 
Like blades of ice, a palsied horror fell, 
Too awful yet for speech, a dragging hush 
That stilled the palms upon the Southern 

slope. 
In all the gleaming of a thousand lights. 
The maniac murderer struck, nor struck in 

vain ; 
Amid the throbbing of a thousand hearts 
He fled, a thing of blackness, through the 

night, 
Adown the darkness of the sphinx-like 

years, 
A restless Judah, still unblessed of death ! 

How could she know the deed was laid to her. 
Who spurned unequal vantage in the field, — 
That her unrifted night should blacker wear 
Beneath the mantle of a dastard lie ? 

She mourned her fallen foe as one who held 
The jewel of his office to the light. 



24 The Other Side 

Set round, perhaps, with justice, — reft too 

soon 
To show the mellow hues that mercy lends. 
She scorned the shallow mummer chance had 

placed 
Within the stately chair — whose shrunken wits 
Would hang upon its arm a cap and bells, 
Beside the sables of a nation's woe. 
And so she mourned above the victor's shroud, 
But felt a curse like flame upon her head 
Pour from the frenzied tongues that wildly cut 
The tie to mere humanity in twain. 
As stern revenge hissed through the cry that 

told 
The world, the lion of the North was slain. 

Oh ! beauteous Southland, — fairest of fair 

lands ! 
Thy soul of honor gave the crime the lie 
Unsought, unjustified, for though thy wreath 
Was cypress, victor's bays ne'er held the dews 
Of truth and right more wholly pure than 

thou ! — 



All Historic Poem 



25 



The hand of History pauses, and her pen 
Droops o'er her scroll in sadness, but the call 
Of centuries before her bids her write, — 
By gleam of Truth's white burning torch, nor 

spare 
The damning spot that blots the Union shield, 
Whose pardoning grace can only come from 

God! 



26 The Other Side 



PART SECOND 

THE PRISONER OF STATE 

The dogs of war within the fortress sleep, 
The silent shadows drift upon its wall, 
Within the moat that frets its sombre side 
The sluggish tidal oozes rise and fall. 

The clanging gates have shut upon the world 
Where justice may have dwelt, — hope's rays 

depart ; 
The yearning bars grate through their rings to 

hold 
The iron secrets of a granite heart. 

The heavy present weighs upon its own. 
Nor gives a token of the deeds to be ; — 
A martial cloak but hides the hand that 

dropped 
The sword of honor for a jailer's key. 




Jefferson Davis When Captuked. 



An Historic Poem 27 

The plumage of the eagle drips with blood, 
His broken pinion droops, he cannot fly, 
Nor look upon the glory of the sun. 
Nor hear the hungry eaglets when they cry. 

His foot may claim no resting-place on earth, 
Save what the victor gave, — a muffled knell, 
A sorrow crucified, that sifts the light 
Of anguish through a grated prison cell. 

He looks in silence on the fading moat, 

A darkness comes, — he cannot see the 

stars ; 
The night is falling on the world he loved, — 
He feels its blackness through the driven 

bars. 

His bearings have been lost, the captive 

speaks — 
The question dies, the answer is his own. 
That echoes through the narrow cell to strike 
A sullen mass of living, human stone. 

Nor yet alone, — all through the weary day 
The heavy treading of the sentries' beat, — 



28 Tbe Other Side 

All through the night's unsleeping watch it 

rings, — 
The measured echo of the soldiers' feet. 

Unheard it falls, beyond the chilling vault, — 
The dwelling of a warrior's spotless shield. 
The spirit of the Chieftain haunts to-night 
The last sad bivouac upon the field. 

The dawning wears, a somber, feeble ray 
Strains through the casemate where the shad- 
ows press ; 
The prison lamp is out, the captive turns 
Upon the pillow slumber could not bless. 

What sorrows wait for thee, sad riven heart ! 
Thy cup is full of wormwood darkly blent, 
Thy days are mixed with gall to drag their 

length 
Across the narrow span the victors lent ! 

The thief that waits by night the darkened 

moon, 
The felon, throttling life until it died, 
The outcast of the earth is blameless held, 
Until by light of proof his cause is tried ; 



An Historic Poem 29 

But thou ? — tribunals will not hear thy voice, 

And Truth swoons on the high dishonored 
stair, 

While Hate holds parlance, offering to Re- 
venge, — 

The Baal of the nation, worshiped there. 

A key is turned, the grating hinges groan, 

A shadow falls upon the prison bed. 

The sentries break their measured beat and 

pause 
To hear the echo of the jailer's tread. 

Without, the ripened time before the earth 
Has clamored of a higher, golden age ; 
Within, the brutal lust for guiltless blood, 
Proclaims a later Inquisition's rage. 

The weary eyes are closed, — has death come 

first, 
Has nature robbed the torturers of their 

prey? 
Must vengeance die upon a sheathed sword. 
And hold, unspent, its passions still at bay .'' — 



^o The Other Side 

Life yet must linger, honor could not die, 
Nor even leave the shadow of a stain ; 
The strength of manhood in its purest flower. 
Could not be crushed beneath a felon's chain ! 

Woe stirs the pulses of the broken heart, 
With cruel pathos memory's fingers dwell 
Upon the brain, shut in from life, from love, 
From even misery, — a living hell ! 

The crimson bar upon the anvil cools, 
The idle bellows has forgot its part ; 
The brawny smith has left the blazing forge, 
To ply his craft upon a human heart. 

They bring the mighty sinews of the fort, 
The men of strength, before the man of grief ; 
Their heavy irons drag with clanking chains 
The shackles for the Southland's honored 
Chief. 

Before his persecutors stands he there, 
Brutality and honor, face to face, — 
More merciful. Oh ! Death, be quick to spare 
The country for all time, the dire disgrace ! 



An Historic Poem ^t 

Yea, he could bear it for his people's sin ; 
If sin there be, his willing blood would flow — 
Yet not on him alone, the shame is poured 
Upon a broken people in its woe. 

Alas ! the creed men wear upon the sleeve, 
Man's inhumanity gives oft the lie ; 
Alas ! the cycle of the golden age 
Must weld an iron segment ere it die ! 

Can such things be, and manhood bear un- 

marred 
The impress of his God? — what heed were 

bars. 
Or walls of bayonets, or prison gates, 
That infamy cries out unto the stars ! 

There is an arm to strike, a voice to plead 
For smoking flax beside the broken reed ; 
Within the cell a fearful struggle dies, — 
Recording angels cannot blot the deed ! 

The day of progress, ay, so called, of peace, 
Enfolds the land, nor pauses at the gate 
To look upon the manacles that bind 
The welded Union's Prisoner of State. 



^2 The Other Side 

Ay, damning spot upon the scutcheon laid ! 
When hate is dead, what incense can atone ? 
When time, the leveler, shall stand confessed. 
What heart, what tongue, the dastard deed 
shall own ? — 

So wear the days away, — what matter they, 
Or blue of sky or plash of cooHng rain, — 
The change of sentries marks the passing hour. 
And time is only calendared by pain. 

Four narrow walls for that wide eerie sweep. 
That met the eagle of the Southern plain, — 
A noisome vapor for the spicy breath, — 
A ceaseless grinding on the fevered brain ; 

A twilight where the darkness may not fall, 
A darkness where the light of peace is dead, 
A dawning moated with a thousand fears, 
A midnight blackened with a silent dread ; 

The hideous torturing of human eyes, 
Unsleeping, fixed, well schooled unto their 

part, — 
The gaze of serpents on the wounded life, 
That gloat, yet dare not feed upon its heart. 



An Hisionc Poem ^^ 

Without, the busy world must live, must 

move, 
The pulse of Commerce beat within the gate ; 
But still no echo filters through those walls, 
Save messages of calumny and hate. 

Not even Truth may come, unless in shape 
Warped like a wrinkled crone, she passed her 

by, 

To glare across the bars, — a lower wretch 
Than she who often paused, — the Naked Lie. 

Humiliation, thou art here, — thy scourge 
Lies on the heart that bleeds unto thy rod ; 
Before thy shrine there kneels a very king, 
Whose soul, unconquered, looks unto his God ! 

The ravening beast will prey upon his kind. 
Complete the anguish that mischance began ; 
The brutal hirelings can have their will, — 
The part divine is slumbering in man. 

They heap their tortures on the wasted frame. 
Indignities with insults flaunt and vie, 
To wring repentance for an imaged wrong. 
To chronicle regret's unguarded sigh. 



^4 The Other Side 

What cunning guild hath taught thy hand of 

steel, 
O art of cruelty, distilled, refined, 
That turns the blade upon the quivering nerve 
To test the limitations of the mind ? 

Day unto day, the weary watches wear, 
But bring no signal of the coming end ; 
He cannot know if on the whole wide earth 
There breathes for him a whispered prayer, — 
a friend ! 

Troops fawn upon the mantle of success, 
And friendship thickens round the heaping 

store ; 
He sank in honor with his people's hope, — 
Held he his people's faith, he asked no more. 

Day unto day, — the tired senses reel. 

The warders change, the sentries come and 

go; 

The curse is silence, and he cannot plead 
His cause unto the ear of friend or foe ; 

Not his, — a blameless offering is held, 
The old Hebraic altar lies within ; 



An Historic Poem ^5 

The breast of manhood, free from stain, is 

bared 
To suffer for a people's doubtful sin. 

Go to ! thou ermine of polluted Right, — 
The lion's skin but hides the craven fools, 
Whose pliant knees are trembling in their 

haste 
To glut the Union wrath, ere reason cools ! 

Ah ! where are they, unsullied laws of state, 
Unerring, swerving not from cast or die, — 
Ah ! where are they, the hidden springs that 

move 
The better part of all humanity ? 

Is this a murderer in durance held, 
A wily traitor to his torture sent, 
A deep dyed criminal, to bear the weight 
Of weary days in silent anguish spent ? 

These may be heard ; benignity awakes 
To bid each speak for justice soon or late ; 
All may be heard, save he untouched of 

crime, — 
The welded Union's Prisoner of State. 



^6 The Other Side 

Where else the brave tribunal that would hold 
The body in a prison cell aloof, 
Upon a questioned charge, and shirk the test, 
The trial that would clear, or make the proof ! — 

Ay, one. Upon a festal Jewish eve 
They loosed Barabbas from the prison walls, 
For One all blameless. Buried visions wake 
Within the solemn gloom of Pilate's halls. 

But only echoes come ; tides rise and fall, 
And trees are swaying in the sighing wind : 
Forgiveness comes to some, — these lips are 

dumb ; 
He only asks for pardon who has sinned. 

Thy crime. Oh ! hapless Prisoner of State, 
Is that thy people chose thee for their head ! 
Oh ! manhood of the South, if thou hast plead. 
He knows thy pardon was the cry for bread ! 

The seasons bring their changes, vernal bloom 
Has dropped its beauty for the cloth of gold ; 
The fortress minstrels don the southern 

plume, — 
He marks the season by the coming cold. 



An Historic Poem ^7 

How press the goads upon the anguished frame, 
On soul and sinew cut the torturing bands ; 
The staff of life, the very prison bread 
Is shredded through a brutal soldier's hands ; 

The humble implements of humbler life 
For humblest food, his torturers deny. 
Lest by his hand upon the homely blade. 
In black despair, the frenzied captive die ; 

For he had courted death before the guns 
Of angered guards before the fateful deed ; 
He should not die in peace and leave un- 

drained 
The bitter cup, his captors deemed his meed. 

Yet they who hold an early death too kind, 
Know not the manhood that they seek to 

rend, — 
Starvation mocks, the thin lips cannot beg, — 
The soul God gave him was not born to bend ! 

He deems the vital spark a thing divine. 
E'en when the face of death is sweeter far 
To man than life, — his prowess cannot give, — 
He may not enter where the holies are. 



^8 The Other Side 

One came to him with healing balm, a foe, — 

Humanity to man, an aid would lend ; 

And manhood knew his kind, though far 

apart 
And hedged about, he dared to be a friend. 

When fever surges through the wasted form. 
And phantasies play on the storm-racked heart, 
What alchemy can mix the draught of peace. 
What physic holds the crucible of art ! 

The great soul wanders out upon the world, 
Upon the world he loved, whose woe he 

bears. 
Along the grave clods of dismantled loves, 
Of broken shrines, of bitter, silent tears. 

There is no bolt to bind, nor lock to bar ; 
How fare his people 'neath the Union wing ? 
Unfeathered promises, that yet will moult 
Unplumed, before the coming of the spring ! 

How fare his own? — the proud ancestral 

palm 
Stands scorched upon the plain where sleep 

the dead, 



All Historic Poem ^g 

Where nest his own young eaglets in the gloom 
That stifles with the pride-hushed cry for 
bread ! 

Alas ! that wandering spirit cannot speak, 
Whose cloak lies wasting in a guarded cell, 
Unblessed, save by the Higher Hand for 

death, — 
Unheard, unjustified, if life should dwell. 

What matter for the body ? — feeble thing, 
That barely holds the greatness in its 

bounds, — 
What sophistries, earth wove or spun of hell. 
Can drink the poison from these rankling 

wounds ! 

To die? — the human eyes gaze from their 

lair, — 
'Twere sweet to miss the converse of the 

glance. 
To feel the watch of life beat out its spring, 
To drift, — into the light of peace, perchance ; 

To lose the tread of sentries in the hush 
That comes to lull the weary pulse to rest, — 



40 The Other Side 

To close the fluttering lids upon the world, 
To sleep, upon the old Earth-Mother's breast. 

To die, — ah ! what is death ? — the earth to 

earth, 
The lowly blending with the primal sod, 
Unbinding all the cords that fret the hope 
That looks through faith, in darkness, up to 

God; 

To strip the soul of every earthly veil. 

To loose the unknown something from its 

bond, 
To leave a moveless silence in the clay, 
To feel, to know, there is a life beyond ! 

Then come, still kindly Death, reverse the 

torch, 
For Thou, ah ! God, Thou knowest what he 

bears ! 
He cannot quench Thy light, but fed by woe 
The feeble flame deep in the socket wears ! 

To die, — with silence on those fevered lips, 
What heart shall know, what clarion tongue 
shall tell, — 



/In Historic Poem 41 

When they shall flaunt their charges, who shall 

speak ? 
To die unheard, — within a prison cell. 

They seal that being from the outer world, 
Whose voice is mute, whose shattered life a 

thread ; 
When shame at last shall draw the iron bars. 
Shall they, too late, but look upon the dead ? 

Dead, with a shadow on the honored name ; 

More harmful yet, the vague and skulking 
doubt, 

That enters through a crevice with the wind. 

While sober judgment stands and waits with- 
out? 

Men have been crucified, have died for hate, 
Hearts have been broken on the racking wheel ; 
A nation's thrice-blessed chalice never washed 
Oppression's memories from her guilty heel ! 



Then let the trial come, the cause be heard. 
Or let the curse drag on from sun to sun ! — 
The weary prisoner turns upon his bed, — 
" My Father, I would live, — Thy will be done ! 



42 The Other Side 

So weaves the raveled thread of somber life, 
That in the changing light, faith knits with care 
For him who looks up through the clouds of 

earth 
Beyond the bars, and feels a Presence there. 

The springtime dallies with the ragged hem 
That binds the snowy robe of sleeping earth ; 
Yet once again her broideries break through 
The dark cold clods, that yearned to give them 
birth. 

Within the fort are whisperings of life, 
And in the tender green of new-born leaves, 
The feathered wanderers have dropped the 

wing. 
And swallows twitter in the drying eaves ; 

Like incense sifting through the prison bars. 
Like prayers, the trusting music breathes afar 
The worship of the Unknown Love that taught 
The tiny things what love and freedom are. 

Yea, such as these, — a thing that man may 

hold 
Within the roomy hollow of his palm. 



/In Historic Poem 4^ 

Will break the tiny wing within a snare, 
Will pine for freedom, in a prison's calm ; 

Oh ! Hand that counts the strands of human life 
Like beads upon the shadow of His thought ! — 
To lie upon the sluggish tide that tells 
The turn of time, where days, where years are 
naught ! — 

How goes the day, the wistful day that laid 
The sad year dead, upon the leaves of fate ? 
What message drifts upon the heavy gloom 
That lies around the Prisoner of State ? 

Peace cannot tell the old familiar tale, 
Hearts cannot speak the sympathy they feel ; 
Oh ! love, thy voice is hushed, and friendship 

weeps, 
Blocked out by granite, barred by glittering 

steel ! 

The hand that led the flower of the world, 
Whose fingers, chivalry was wont to press. 
Wooes with a crumb, a timid starving mouse, — 
The only thing he has the power to bless ! 



44 The Other Side 

Across the moat the sunbeams drift and die, 
Beneath the frov/ning turrets, shadows blend, 
Are born and die again with dreary rote ; 
The sickened senses swim, — when comes the 
end ! 

The hand of Nature heals the war-scarred earth, 
She nestles close unto the mother's heart. 
To feel its beating, while her human sons 
In din and strife, forget that better part. 

For whence the force that seals the captive's 

cell, — 
What power wields the key that bars the 

gate ? 
Dwells he beneath the rules of martial sway. 
Or by the ancient civil laws of state ? 

The martial bond dies with the pulse of war. 
Then whence the charge, Oh ! learned court of 

Truth ? — 
The civil law had sent the baser crimes 
Upon a speedier road than this, forsooth ! 

Had there been dealt by stealth a secret blow, 
A traitorous hand, a traitor's fate had met ; 



All Historic Poem ^5 

A murderer's heart had justly ceased to beat, 
A prison-torturer's sun had long been set ! 

Yea, what a siDectacle is this, to leave 
Upon the record of a vaunted peace — 
A prisoner, held by government, ashamed 
To grant a trial or to give release ! 

And should he die beneath the bonds of hate. 
Through riven bars shall they look on the 

dead, 
Then hiss into the ear of listening worlds 
The Jewish cry, " His blood be on our head " ? 

His code is cast within a higher mould. 
That asks not mercy, at the victor's hand — 
Before a civil court he only craves 
An open trial of his native land. 

The issue clogs the progress of the wheels 
That lead the triumph of the Union cause ; 
Before the seat where reigns unholy wrath, 
The scions of humanity must pause. 

To hear the voices calling from the waste 
Where Justice left her mantle ere she fled ; 



46 The Other Side 

The pleading for the smothered spark of right, 
Lest honest right of fearless truth be dead. 



It is a sun-gleam, shot across the cloud, — 
Born where the human fountain ebbs and flows, 
The fealty of manhood unto man, 
Pledged with the open hands of noble foes. 

The ears waxed dull against the boom of war, 
The treason-criers with their garments rent. 
And balanced reason yet must hear the call — 
The clarion that humanity has sent ! 

Two weary years ! The heavy prison gates 
Swing on their laggard hinges once again. 
The breath of heaven mingles with the earth. 
The light of heaven mingles with the pain ! 

And still the spawn of undiluted hate 

And craven shame, upon the vantage grope, — 

When sons of wrath have gulped envenomed 

gall, 
To vaunt the " clemency that spared the rope." 

Two weary years ! the proud head of the Chief, 
Unbowed in chains, unbent in wasting care. 



/Ill Historic Poem ^7 

Droops in the silent faith with her who waits, — 
The light of love is more than he can bear ; 

Whose voice is dead within a living world, 
Ambition's feather broken on its glave, 
The future, but the cypress-trailing past, — 
Not even his, the franchise of a slave ! 



48 The Other Side 



PART THIRD 

RECONSTRUCTION 

They turned their faces from the sullen field, 
Where time had writ defeat with bloody hand ; 
The grave had claimed its own, and prison 

holes 
Had vomited their ghastly wrecks of life. 
Unconquered men ! — who held the coat of 

gray 
In rags and honor o'er the Southern heart, 
That struck for right, outstripped by force, for 

death — 
Unblessed by both, to teach how manhood 

lives ! 

They told their stories by the broken hearth, 
By empty chairs, by boards with sorrow 

spread. 
Where two or three had gathered in the name, 
And paused within a prayer, to call it ' Home.' 



A)i Historic Poem 49 

The calm had kissed the storm, the twilight 

hush 
Had pressed the burning heels of noontide 

glare, — 
But what a calm was there, its stillness 

■ drooped 
Before the horrors of a blank despair ! 

They came from far along the dusty way 
To seek their own, — to find the husks of life : 
Graves sorrow-filled, to soothe a yearning love, 
And dreary wastes where torch of wrath had 

dwelt. 
Men pressed the teeth into the lip, nor spake, 
But strained their sinews to the biting need 
That fed upon the wasting chords of life ; 
Plaints died unuttered, empty words were 

vain, — 
For such before the ear of God were dumb. 
Some fell beneath the awful car that strewed 
The hearts of men along the way of life, — 
Souls paused amid the chaos, and the light 
Of reason fled before the wrecks of love ; 
Death slipped beneath the arms and sorrow 

slept 
Upon his bosom like a cradled child. 



^o The Other Side 

And some there were, a few, oh ! bitter shame ! 
Who in the darkness turned the coat of gray, — 
Its ragged honors must have hardly pressed 
To give its lining such a sheen of blue ! 

To some a silence came, and sorrow supped 
With tears and sorrow ; watching eyes grew dim 
With gazing down familiar paths in vain. 
And then a sword or whispered message came 
And Rachael lifted up her voice and wept ; 
To turn again to earnest life alone, 
Beneath the sackcloth and the ash of woe, 
To stifle back the mother-cry that left 
Her patriots on the field of honor, dead. 
The sword was hung above the scanty board. 
Was hung in honor, crossed with that which 

gave 
The birth throe of Republics, — blade with 

blade 
Bore silent witness of a common cause ; 
For truth has lived, will live, a thing of God, 
Though human strength falls quivering by the 

way ; 
The flames consume not, nor the blight that 

drops 
A weaker fruit untimely to the earth ! 



All Historic Poem 5/ 

While yet, the goodly land the fathers gave 
Tossed thorn and hedgerow, waiting for the 

touch 
Of loving hands and hearts, to sow and reap 
A fairer harvest than of shot and shell. 
What time for idle grief when barn and store 
Yearned with the bowels of an empty depth. 
And wide-eyed children played upon the heart 
And lifted up their orphaned cries of woe ? 
Ay, women weep when poignant griefs bear 

hard, — 
The hand of Him men love hath made them so ; 
But ah ! that line that held those starving 

throats 
In silence, charged before the fearful odds 
In clash of war, in aftertimes revealed 
The ease, endurance works through living 

pain ! 



Men called it peace. Arbitrament of war 
Had held the Southland in the Union league 
With stern decree, lest even right should break 
The link that bound the welded sisterhood. 
She bowed her head to fate, and in the night 
That lay upon her heart, footsore and sad, 



^2 The Other Side 

Before the Union's citadel of might 

She pressed unto the brazen door and knocked ; 

Men heard her not, a chaos reigned within, 

Nor opened unto amnesty and right. 

" Peace hath her victories no less than war." 

Peace hath her shames — ah ! pitiful the word 

That heaped the blackness of unnumbered 

crimes 
Upon the devastation of the sword ! 

Wide lay the lines between the heated hearts, 
Not wider they, when fratricidal war 
Plowed with a bloody scythe the teeming fields ; 
The olive branch of Reconstruction came, — 
A cursed leaf upon a blighted trunk ! 
Ay, peace forsooth ! along her barren land, 
That yielded up its store to flame and sword, 
She wound her silent way with folded hands ; 
What more for her ? — her wonted eloquence 
Was hushed amid the governmental world, 
Her arm of might was severed from its power. 
And alien robes swept through her halls of 
state ! 

Hast seen the birds that sentry on the beach, 
Upon the calm that follows on the storm ? 



An Historic Poem 53 

Hast seen the human ghouls with net and 

snare, 
Who ply their craft along the cruel bars ? 
For so they came, the warriors of peace, 
To sniff the harmless aftermath of strife. 
Clothed in the little brief unwonted power, 
That gives a beggar airing for his rags ; 
Unburdened, save by hate, that strove to fill 
The long lean cavern of an empty pouch. 
So grew the loathsome cloud from out the 

North, 
Along the low horizon of the South, — 
The swaying buzzard hath not surer flight 
Than that which swooped upon the wrecks of 

war. 
What wonder men grew pale and ground the 

teeth 
In sullen silence, bending to their tasks. 
Or soft-eyed women, toiling at the wheel, 
Wept low that even sunlight had grown dim ! 

From fleecy fields the " Wards of Freedom " 

came 
With thick-lipped clamor, waving in their 

hands, 



5^ The Other Side 

With blatant ignorance and vicious lusts, 
The franchise that the Southron could not 

use. 
Full loud the grotesque clamor rose and fell 
Unheeded, by a promise unfulfilled ; 
What gift of office could appease the hope 
That held a goodly Canaan and a mule ! 
But even they, the children of the night. 
Must fill a hungry maw that yearned for more ; 
From dusky hands, in childish trust, there 

slipped 
A piteous hoard to feed unholy greed ! 

Some preached of love, from altars hedged 

about. 
Far from the scene, nor pondered what they 

taught, — 
Where blank-eyed dreamers, wild with theories, 
Hugged not the truth, but images brain- 
wrought. 
Some bridged the gulf, but from coercion 

hewed 
The keystone of the arch set in with blood. 
Flanked by the glittering bars of bayonets, 
That held their sharpness by a brutal might. 



An Historic Poem ^^ 

Blight followed blight ; the dark insensate 

ground 
Was cold beneath the chilling drops of war, 
Nor freely gave its multiplying power 
Into the hands whose harvest had been death. 
Had He, who in the fullness of His word 
Holds all within the hollow of His hand, 
Forgot to look upon the evil days 
Heaped up with labor, running o'er with 

prayers ? 

Her lines were hard, but still the Southland held 
Her faith unshaken, and her trust undimmed 
Against foul slander, calumny, and wrong, — 
The very vipers warming at her hearth, — 
To lend a still tongue and a muffled ear 
To all the shallow comforters of Job 
Who perched upon the ruin of her walls 
To crave a curse upon the evil time. 

Her land of dreams had died upon her heart, 
As daring, pure, as palaces of snow, 
To leave as residue that hallowed thing, 
Unconquered, in the history of man, — 
That dwelt upon the vanquished ones who 
warred 



^6 The Other Side 

In truth for her, and by the holy dead 

Took up again the tangled skein of life. 

It lived, within a bruised and roughened husk, 

So small and still, imprisoned in the dark. 

Then on the weary, germinating years 

It burst, a giant from a mustard-seed. 

God smiled in sunlight, and the sodden earth 

Gave back to loving care, a loving yield, 

As fleecy fields tossed white with Southern 

snow. 
And golden fruitage bent with breaking trees. 
Upon the fair land, vandal - swept, where 

stalked 
A hungered poverty among her brood. 
There rose the white wing of a living hope 
Above the ashes of her buried love= 
Hill called to hill, and hidden treasure yawned 
To give into her hand a heaping store. 
And high against a storm-washed sky she 

raised 
The tower of her covenant of faith. 
The empty hands were filled, and meager forms 
Basked in the pleasant warmth of self-wrought 

ease, 
As resurrection rent the pallid veil 



/Ill Historic Poem ^y 

That lay upon the dearth of stunted years. 
Progression spake, and from wide throated 

vaults 
There poured a mellow stream of Northern 

gold, 
Though malcontents were grumbling in their 

mood, 
That God had made a Nazareth so fair. 

Peace lay upon her ways, and pleasant herbs 
Sprung in the furrow plowed by shot and shell. 
Though o'er the land that held the Southern 

Cross, 
The waving banner of the Union fell ; 
Hers too, to smite a stern reality. 
Hers too, abiding through the coming time, — 
Whose fair allegiance, not less true, reveals 
The symbol of an unforgotten dream ! 

Like as a mother, when the day is done. 
Turns from the tiny forms she hushed to rest. 
So tender, yet so faithful in her love, — 
To weep upon a treasured golden curl, 
Or faded shoe a buried baby wore, — 
Not yet a part, and yet a tie to waft 



$8 The Other Side 

The incense of the holy risen thing, — 

On each returning springtime o'er her Cross 

The widowed South remembered, wept her 

dead ; 
To smile again upon the living hearts 
That looked their love into her faithful eyes, 
To draw her mantle o'er the holy place 
Where slept the emblem of her living dead. 

Blest ashes ! — keep the dust the mother loves. 
As she in solemn grandeur keeps their 

shields, — 
The dead who died with victory in their ears, 
Who never knew their daring issue failed ! 
Rest lightly as a curtain spun of mist, — 
Let no rude zephyr tell the story there, — 
Unto the dead whom all the world has 

crowned. 
Who never felt the woe the vanquished feel ! 

Years dropped away, the busy quiet days 
Wore slanted shadows, and the first light snow 
Lay on the boyish brows of Sixty One ; 
They told their sons of war, and in the hush 
They pointed to the dusty, vacant chairs, 



y^n Historic Poem 59 

Then to the grassy slopes beneath the trees, 
Where rest in silence all the hills of God ; 
And childish eyes grew wide and childish 

hearts 
Quaffed deep the living principle they taught. 
The page of life repeats as cycles close, 
And from the selfsame missal it was learned, 
Full lettered out, the same old simple creed 
The fathers of the Revolution held. 

True, tender, loving, proud old South ! — the 

hands 
That rent their palms against the barb of war 
To gild thy name, have woven for thy form 
A wondrous garment in a magic loom. 
Thou art the " New " unto the stranger's 

glance. 
Thou art the " New " unto the stranger's clasp 
That never knew thine in the olden day. 
But they, Oh ! mother, who have knelt with thee. 
Have lain upon thy heart to breathe their woe. 
When manhood left its all upon the field 
Save that undimming honor of its shield, — 
Look through the vestments of thy newer day. 
Upon thy placid, dear familiar face ! 



6o The Other Side 

Beside the sea the vista had grown gray, 

The long moss trembled from the gnarled trees 

To swell of sighing pines, that blent with 

shades 
That fold about the eventide of life. 
There had been woeful sacrifice of blood, 
There had been offering without the death ; 
Upon the altar of a people's love 
A Chief's unsullied broken life was laid ; 
Atonement for the living, for the dead, 
A requiem for the cause that lived and died, — 
A shrine to bear a weak one's conscious sin, 
If craven hand be found to cast it there. 
An alien in the land that gave him birth, 
Without a pardon, either asked or given, 
A severed chord yet vibrant in its strength, 
A silence, when the thunder peal is stilled. 
He lived, — unbent before the stricken years. 
Cut like a granite form against the gray. 
To nourish in his heart the flawless germ 
Of life, the riven Constitution lost. 
He lived, — the target of a thousand shafts, — 
A sentinel above the grave of hope, 
The substance of a disembodied dream, — 
A living, bleeding sacrifice for men ! 



An Historic Poem 6i 

The dreams of youth drift when the frosty- 
years 
Leave snowflakes in the locks that manhood 

brought ; 
Somewhere upon the path, the ghost of bloom 
Will mingle with the mellowed autumn leaf. 
The issue failed, — its following was want. 
The cry for bread had stilled the voice of men. 
The present need beat back the bloody past 
Within the darkness, but what time the feet 
Were loosed from treading corn, the silent 

hearts 
Turned back in faith unto their early love. 
The newer day was theirs ; upon the form 
They followed, loved, the night was falling fast, 
And with the throbbing of a million loves 
The war-scarred Southrons sought again their 

Chief. 
But once again ! the loyalty they gave 
But slumbered through the five and twenty 

years, — 
But once again ! ere grandeur slept with age 
Beside the starry banner in its shroud ! 
T' was meet — through life he suffered death 
for them. 



62 The Other Side 

For them he gave the flower of his years 
To leave its perfume in an iron hand, 
Its petals dead, and yet he murmured not. 
And so they came as soldiers once again, 
Came with the autumn glory as it smiled 
Upon the frost-touched heads, half sorrow 

crowned, 
To blend the tokens of a living love. 
From every walk of life, with martial tread, 
In tender mood they wound their thoughtful 

way. 
To cast a joy into the cup of pain, 
A gleam against the years of sleet and rain. 
Ay, stood he there ! the eagle of the South, 
Old, gray, beneath the chains of fettered years. 
Alone and grand against a changing sky, — 
A sunset of a glorious day that died I 

They looked upon the wasted form they loved ; 
Hearts broke the clod of weary buried time ; 
A rush of soul — Oh ! God ! if it were sin. 
That all Thy faithful had such following ! 
Ah ! what was time ? a filmy veil that swept 
Like spiders' webs before the seething flood ! 
Ah ! what was life ? a single drop to pour 
Within the precious chalice of the past ! 



All Historic Poem 6j 

The martial line was broken, far above 
A shout clave through the sympathetic air ; 
Heart called to heart, that echoed back again 
Through bursting throats a swelling sea of 

sound. 
On, on, they came, what mattered form or 

state ? 
The day had cheated age, the hearts wer^ 

young 
To lift the tender glory of the past. 
To press like children to the Chieftain's feet. 
All, all forgot ! ay, but to see his face. 
To hear his voice, to touch his withered hands, 
To look into the eagle eye, that looked 
Its last, through glistening tears, upon his own ! 
They struggled, surged, a breaking wave of 

hearts, 
Swept by a backing tide of memory, — 
To rain their kisses on the thin pale hands 
And wash them with the strength of manhood's 

tears. 

All, all were there — the faithful in the dark, 
The steadfast armorers, and e'en the sons 
That strayed apart, came back in earnest troth 
To look upon the emblem of their love. 



64 The Other Side 

What hand could check ? from human hearts 

it flashed 
As sudden lightning rends the cloudless skies, 
A joy that filtered through an age of woe, 
A candle snuffed to radiance as it dies ! 

And scoif who might, the sordid day had 

paused, 
The mystic triumph sped from soul to soul ; 
High heaven's angels looked into their depths 
And marked its passage with a spotless stone ! 

They raised the tatters of the Southern Cross, 
With trembling hands above the weeping host. 
The Chieftain bowed upon its bloodstained 

folds — 
The living emblem and the dead were one ! 
The last farewell ! above his People crowned 
With sunlit peace, he waved the tattered thing, — 
Like to his breaking heart, the tie that bound 
Their lives, their glories, with the deathless past ; 

A shout, a prayer, a benediction died 
Upon the shadow of the glorious dream, — 
A silence drifted like a snowy veil, 
And left a Grandeur on the heart of Time ! 



